


Help

by YIWT



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YIWT/pseuds/YIWT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie. Loki escapes from his enemies, and arrives weak and battered on Midgard. He thinks up a way of being celebrated, instead of reviled, for the mess he made of New York. The plan goes wrong more simply than he would ever have thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help

**Author's Note:**

> This arose because of all the fics where Loki gets the shit kicked out of him either by Asgard or by the Chitauri, and appears on Midgard… and seeks out the Avengers for help. As a huge fan of h/c, I read them all, and love them. But am I the only one who thinks that your enemy's house is the *last* place you should go for help?
> 
> Takes place post-Avengers. (But, Loki is not quite the jerk here that he was in the movie. I suppose I'm going with the theory that he was a little bit KUI - Killing Under the Influence - for much of Avengers. I wouldn't try and excuse his conduct by saying he was mind-controlled like Clint, but it did seem like his personality had been tampered with to some degree. I think he'd blow about a .05 on the Brainwash Breathalyzer.)
> 
> Warning for unhappy ending. Sorry guys! I seem to be making a habit of writing downers lately…

 

*************************

Loki had picked up some charming idioms on Midgard. He particularly liked  _out of the frying pan and into the fire._

Now, for instance. In his cell in Asgard, bound and muzzled and with his power all but drained… that was the frying pan.

Being plucked from his cell by his erstwhile allies, the foulsmelling and badtempered Chitauri, and dragged off to be slowly executed for his failure… that was getting out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

But drawing up the last reserves of his strength and throwing himself into the ether to  _escape_ the fire… what was that called? When he was too exhausted to take any but the easiest path, the path to where he had been so recently… when he allowed himself to be spit up on Midgard  _on the streets of New York_ just two weeks after he had rampaged through it… What would the earth people call that?

"Fucked," he breathed aloud. That's what it was: fucked. The cacophony of the city was too much to handle. He was lying on the ground bleeding out of every orifice – including some he hadn't had when the Chitauri started – and people were just stepping over him as if he weren't even there.

Sometimes they stepped  _on_ him even, and swore at him more often than apologized. He lay still, wrapped in the filthy tattered remains of his cloak, and waited for something to happen.

The trampling stopped. But after a moment it started again. Underneath him, somewhere deep under the ground, some sort of monster roared and screeched and shook the earth. That was odd; he'd thought there  _were_ no monsters on Midgard. He realized that he was starting to faint. He hid his face in his elbow and just waited to be stomped to death.

But again, the humans stopped treading on him. He finally worked up the courage to crawl out of his filthy cocoon, ignoring the shrieking and gasping he provoked, and he stumbled away from the crowd and away from the rush of vehicles. But there were people and vehicles in every direction. He pressed tight against a building and began to pay attention, because it seemed that his stubborn refusal to learn the first thing about Midgard culture – other than their idioms – could very well bite him in the ass (another favorite) if he was not careful.

*************************

The first thing he noticed was that the humans moved in packs, crossing the streets in a pattern, which was governed by a blinking light that showed when walking was permitted. Violating the walking rules caused vehicles to emit a strident squawking noise.

Those on foot could walk in any direction they pleased, but the vehicles were only allowed to go in one direction. Yellow vehicles were special; one could call them using a spell – no, not a spell, they didn't have spells here – using a signal (?) made by stepping into the road and holding up a hand.

The roaring he had taken for monsters was actually made by an underground transport system. He knew because people would pour en masse out of underground staircases every time one roared by.

People wore anything. Some wore almost nothing. Some reeked. They were every shape, every size, every color. He could blend in with the crowd here, easily. He would have to get rid of his cloak though, because it was too hot for cloaks and it would look strange. But underneath the cloak he was soaked in blood. In his cell he had been able to dig the shards out of his chest and arms and legs, but where he couldn't reach there was still glass and stone in him preventing his wounds from closing. He could feel fresh blood sliding down his back even when he stood still.

Surely  _that_ would look strange to the people of Midgard, and would attract unwanted attention. He focused what power he had and cleaned up his appearance: exchanging his battered Asgardian armor for something more Midgard-appropriate, vanishing the blood from his face, laying illusion over the bleeding he couldn't stop. When he was done he examined himself in the mirror on a standing vehicle, and determined that he looked pale and weak, but otherwise all right.

He was feeling quite confident about his chances, until he noticed a rack of newspapers  _that had his fucking face staring from every cover_.

He covered his mouth so as not to storm and swear.

He was now too exhausted to change his form – he had wasted his last scraps of magic making himself Midgard trousers. What had he been thinking. Now what?

Morbid fascination drew him a little closer to the newspapers; he waited until the shopkeeper was turned aside and snatched one.

In a shady side alley he stood and read it.  _LOKI: NUTS AND OUT THERE_ , was the headline. What did that even  _mean_? He found the article and read it. Apparently, humans had interviewed all of Thor's silly friends, and when asked about Loki all the Iron Man knew was that "He's nuts, and he's out there somewhere."

"Nuts and out there," Loki repeated, softly. Indeed.

Well.  _Out there_ was a good idea; he couldn't stay  _here._ Not in New York, not where he was known and hated. But he was too weak to travel by magic, and anyway he had nowhere to go that the Chitauri couldn't find him. Until he was rested and ready to fight, he would have to stay on Midgard, where at least the presence of Thor's friends would keep the creatures away.

But his bleeding wouldn't stop – he wasn't going to heal on his own. He needed  _help,_ here on Midgard, help from a place which he knew nothing about and where he had no friends.

Ah, but though he had no friends Loki had plenty of enemies. A whole  _city_ of enemies, really, which was useful, because enemies always have  _other_ enemies, who are nearly as good as friends in most circumstances.

A powerful city like New York  _must_ have enemies. All Loki had to do was get to them, and then he would be celebrated, rather than hunted, for all the havoc he had caused.

Safe in the shadows, he settled down to watch for a few more minutes to see if he could get any clues.

*************************

While the people of New York varied considerably in their dressing habits, there was one garment that Loki saw over and over again. It was a navy-blue shirt, short of sleeve and with an angled collar, with a symbol over the breast. It was a symbol Loki at first thought decorative, until he'd seen so many that he was forced to reconsider and examine it for meaning. Ah: it was an N and a Y intertwined. Must stand for  _New York._  The people who wore such a uniform must be some sort of city-men, workers of some kind. They frequently moved in packs and with confidence, pouring out of the taverns smelling of beer and laughing. This must be a holiday for them.

Perfect. If they were drunk they were less likely to recognize him. He approached one and said, charming as could be: "Excuse me, this is my first time in New York and I have a rather silly question. Could you remind me, please: the city that's New York's greatest enemy… I've forgotten the name."

The city-man blinked. "Enemy?" he repeated blankly.

"You know, that city that you hate…?" he prompted. "The city that hates  _you_ …?" There  _had_ to be one. A city as great as New York  _had_ to have enemies.

" _Ohhhh_." The man's face split into a smile. "You're thinking of Boston. Watch!" He tilted his head back, cupped his hands, and shouted: " _Boston sucks!_ "

Inside the tavern, people took up the chant. "Boston sucks! Boston sucks!" It was loud, raucous, impassioned… universal _._  Boston sounded promising.

"Thank you," Loki called to the city-man, over the chanting. "Thanks very much."

So now he knew how travel worked, and he had his destination. The next order of business was to actually  _find_ Boston. He decided to just start asking people its whereabouts until someone knew, because that was fastest and he was fading. It was a risk, but a good one. The sun was bright and if he kept it at his back when he conversed with people, nobody could look too closely at his face. He would just have to hope.

He tried two young men who were waiting to cross the street. "Excuse me. Could you help me?"

"Nah, sorry, no change," one mumbled. A boy, a stupid  _boy_ would refuse him?

The other boy proved to be a little more intelligent. "Listen to him, dumbass, he's not a hobo."

"What, like they don't make hobos in England?" the stupid one scathed, and Loki had to confess himself completely lost. In more ways than one.

"I'm not a hobo," he promised. "I'm just trying to get to Boston."

"See!" Stupid-boy crowed. "I told you, bro, we don't have any change."

Loki snapped. "I don't want  _change,_ you idiot, I want fucking directions!" That shut them up, all right. "As you so cleverly surmised, I'm not from this place," he said, a little calmer now that he had their attention. "I thought you might be able to help me. I need to know how one gets to Boston. Now."

"Yeah… yeah, okay okay, we'll help you," the slightly-less-stupid boy soothed. "Jeez. Aright, well, you want the cheapest way, or the most comfortable?"

"The most-…" Loki frowned. Cheaper was probably more anonymous. No one would think to look for a god among the disgusting masses. "Cheapest," he decided.

The boys answered at the same time. "Chinatown bus."

"What?"

"Get in a cab," one directed. "Tell them you want to go to Chinatown, to the bus, at the corner of Hester and Chrystie."

Loki repeated it after them. "Chinatown. Bus. Corner of Hester and Chrystie."

"Yeah. The bus is right there, it takes you right to Boston. Four hours, three with the way those guys drive."

Three hours to safety. Loki felt his smile turn wolfish. " _Thank you_. Thanks so much."

"Are you… famous?" Stupid-boy asked. "You look like I've seen you… somewhere…"

He laughed. "Well-spotted. I was on television once."

The boys pressed him for details, but Loki was already signaling for a cab. "I really must be going. Thanks. Thanks again."

As he got in he heard them swearing  _holy shit_ and  _oh fuck_ and knew that the blood was visible again, but by then the cab was disappearing into traffic and it didn't matter.

"Chinatown bus. Corner of Hester and Chrystie," he ordered, and the cab pilot nodded.

*************************

He had to conjure a handful of New York money to pay for the cab and the bus, and by the time he was actually on the bus Loki was at the absolute end of his endurance. He passed out cold before the trip even started.

During the ride he awoke once: someone was saying, "Honey, honey sit down..."

He made his eyes open and there was a little girl in the row ahead of his peering at him from between the seats, trying to stand tall enough to look over top. As he had enough enemies on Midgard already, Loki gave her what smile he could and flicked his fingers in half a wave before sliding back down towards sleep...

"My name is Maddie," the girl said, and he looked again. "Short for Madison, that's my whole name. What's your name?"

"Loki," he murmured, and closed his eyes.

"Lukey?"

He swallowed his impatience; it was probably a name she had never heard before and they had different accents besides. "L _oh-_ ki," he enunciated carefully. "I'm pleased to meet you, Maddie, but I'm sleeping now. Goodnight."

"How come you're sleeping? Is it your naptime?"

Fortunately the mother rescued him. "Maddie-! Sorry about that," she called over the seat, and manhandled the little girl back down. "Leave the man alone, honey."

"His name is  _Loh-_ ki and he's sleeping. How come he's sleeping? It's the daytime. And he's too big to take a nap. Miss Steffie says you don't take naps when you're big..." The girl continued to chatter, but as she was behind the seat again he could just tune her out and slip away.

*************************

The next time he awoke he knew something was wrong. The bus had stopped, and emptied out, and he was sitting in it all alone. There were several police cars parked around nearby, with colored lights flashing, and all the humans were gathered together behind the police cars as if they formed some sort of shield. Ha.

So they had found him. How?

Loki looked into the crowd of bus-travelers and saw the woman and child from the seat in front of him... and then he snarled aloud at his own stupidity. He had given the girl his  _name._  She had screeched it to high heaven most likely, with no idea what she was saying, and someone had overheard and now everyone knew and he had been sequestered in this stupid smelling bus until...

Ah. Until dear old Thor and his friends arrived to contain him. Surely that was what the humans were waiting for, and that was why the human policemen had not yet attempted to molest him.

Clearly they didn't know that he was almost too weak to stand.

It wouldn't do any good to wait for his real enemies to arrive. He knew he didn't have the energy to make any great leaps through space, but he thought he might be able to pop himself over into the human crowd and grab a hostage to buy time while he figured out what to do.

And it might as well be a hostage who deserved it. Without waiting one second longer, Loki appeared next to the woman, snatched Maddie out of her arms, and brought her up on top of the bus.

He waited for the first rush of screaming and gasping and fussing to die down. Then, doing his best to look healthy and dangerous, he called: "Clearly you know who I am. Good. But calm yourselves. I plan to remain in your world for just a short while, and then I will be on my way. Put away those foolish weapons and leave me be. If you obey, the girl will not be hurt. Otherwise:" He drew a knife and turned it so that it would flash in the sun. "I sharpened this myself." A lie, but nice and threatening-

"No, you didn't." A familiar voice echoed through the air. "You never sharpen your own knives." He snarled. Fucking  _Thor._  Broadcasting down from the Avengers' ugly little jet. Wonderful – the gang's all here.

Maddie was bouncing and squirming in his arms. "Plane! A plane!" She pointed. "See? Loki, look!"

"I see. Keep quiet."

"Hey, how did we get up here?"

"I said keep quiet," he snapped, not taking his attention from the plane. He watched the door open and his brother jump out. The Iron Man followed. No others. It was almost a pity; as badly as the green beast had treated him last time he had a feeling that its alter ego, the doctor, would have been his best chance at getting humane treatment if they finally succeeded in capturing him.

But they  _would not_ succeed. "Hold still so you don't get cut," he murmured to the child, before pressing the knife to her throat. He raised his voice. "Stay where you are, Thor," he shouted. "This does not concern you. I only want to be left in peace."

Thor, predictably did not stay where he was. "What are you doing, brother?" he called as he approached the bus. "That is a  _child_."

Loki was indeed regretting his choice of hostage - the girl was squirming, almost fighting him, heedless of the blade against her windpipe. He had to withdraw it a bit or risk letting her slice herself. "Stop moving," he hissed.

"No – put me down.  _Loki._  Put me  _down_!" She began struggling more earnestly. "You're a stranger, you can't hold me, put me  _down_!"

Her whining was making it difficult to think, so he jostled her hard to frighten her out of it. " _Shut up_."

She gasped. "NO! We don't  _say_ that!  _Bad_ Loki!" And she reared back and slapped him hard in the face.

For a moment it was dead silent and the blow echoed – quite a good effort for a person of her size. He took his eyes from his enemies long enough to arch an eyebrow at her.

He heard Thor snort. That would have been all right, because it actually  _was_ amusing, and he and Thor had shared enough over the centuries that a little mockery was permissible between them. But then, from inside the Iron Man came distorted mechanical laughter and: "Oh, she just  _bitched_ you!" and all of a sudden even some of the humans were joining in.

_Humans,_ laughing at him? Enough was enough. Loki yanked the girl's hair back and cut her throat. That stopped the laughter all right.

*************************

She bled immediately and copiously. He set her on her feet and watched her crumple – she went to her knees, arms rising to her neck, blood sheeting down through her fingers. She stayed for a split second and then went down all the way, lying on her side, eyes and mouth open as if all she felt was surprise.

She was silent, but there was a demented screaming, and it took him a moment to recognize that it was a word:  _Maddie_. Maddie – her name, short for Madison. He looked to the source of the sound and it was the mother, and her face was more terrible than anything Loki had seen in battle in all his centuries, and she was fighting the policemen and screaming  _Maddie_ and  _No_  so hard she didn't even sound human.

Out of nowhere –  _nowhere_ – Loki remembered that emotion. He had once screamed that way for Jormungand, the last of his ill-fated pets, the little serpent he had fed by hand and warmed in his own clothes until Thor saw it in his bedroom and-

He had to look away from the woman; he was starting to feel queasy. He  _remembered_  that sound _,_ the wild mindless struggling, the desperation to reach his baby even though he could see that its head was just so much red paste.

The little girl was still twitching. Bleeding.

After Jormungand – after the days of crying and vomiting had passed and Loki had been able to face the world again – he had taken a pillow into the library and not left it again for weeks. He practiced what he learned on countless poor animals and later, when the animals started surviving, on people he found passed out in alleys after too much to drink.

He was good at healing now. Very good. Even as weak and dizzy as he was, a cut throat  _could not_  be beyond him; he would not let it; he had promised himself he would never again be powerless to help his own and somehow this little girl had just stumbled into the circle of his protection. He dropped to his knees on the hot metallic roof of the bus and reached to the wound.

*************************

He knew he had only seconds – if that! – before the Iron Man started firing. First he cupped his hands over the gash, but he didn't get a seal he liked and so he shifted, tried closing one hand around her throat instead.  _Yes_.

He put his free hand on her forehead and concentrated. He needed great power for this and he  _got_ it, ignoring the ugly feel of something rupturing inside him, clinging to the girl's neck as magic channeled through his hand with the sensation of blistering heat.

He had to close his eyes because of the brightness of the light, and he panted through his mouth because the smell of burning flesh coming from his fingers was making him ill.

While he was working, the bus shook and he recognized the touch of Mjolnir on the ground. "Stop,  _stop,_ everyone stay away, that is healing!" Thor was shouting. "No one interfere! My brother is using magic to help the child."

_Oh, very good, brother._ Loki tried to keep his mind together; if he fainted now this would all be for nothing. But he wasn't going to faint. He felt wonderful. His own pain had stopped and he felt drunk on this; he knew he was pushing too far, but it was  _working_  – he could feel the parts of her cut jugular snaking out for each other, making contact, connecting. He felt her blood resuming its normal flow, her flesh knitting together, even her skin smoothing out.

When at last the heat and light stopped he knew she was well, and he forced his aching fingers to unclench before they strangled her. He couldn't see now because of all the blood, but he suspected that his touch had left burn marks she would wear for the rest of her life.

She coughed and her hands flew to her neck, her eyes almost comically wide. Loki grasped her around the ribs and pulled her up to stand in his lap. "Shh-sh, you're all right, I fixed you," he promised quickly, telling himself that it was  _her_ he was reassuring. "All better. Give us a kiss, hm? Hug and a kiss, and you can go back to your mother."

She looked around a moment for Mama, but Mama was still safely behind the police barrier and Thor was still standing between it and the bus. "Take me back please," she whimpered. She threw her arms around Loki's neck and squeezed, and then kissed him under the ear. Her breath was hot on his face. "Please?"

"Good girl." Loki squeezed too, felt her wriggling with life and health, and then jumped heavily down off the bus to set her free on the pavement.

He watched her toddle away a few steps. He didn't even have time to start wondering what on earth he was going to do next, because his world  _exploded_  with some terrible blinding pain, and a crash told him he had hit the ground, and there was screaming. A lot of screaming – Thor, humans, everyone. He was being shaken but he couldn't move; the pain was the last straw and finally he had had too much. Everything went black. Even the blackness was full of screams.

*************************

Loki awoke in a strange white place, with soft steady beeping in his ear. He was in a bed. He was chained to it.

"Hospital," someone said, and from somewhere he summoned up enough energy to turn his head.

Thor's friend, the female, the one with red in her ledger. He managed a nod. How had he gotten here? He remembered sleeping in a bumping vehicle, a bus, and there was a little girl, and then  _screaming._  So much screaming.

He closed his eyes again and tried to put his thoughts in order. It came back before long: cutting the girl, that awful sound her mother had made, crouching over her and pulling hard for power. He remembered demanding a kiss, and setting her down afterwards, but then all was a blank except for the screams.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"They tased you. The kid broke free and ran back and grabbed for the barbs. It killed her." The blonde one's voice held no emotion, but her stare was icy. "They think she was trying to help you."

Loki tried to wrap his mind around the words, couldn't. He shook his head.

"Yeah. I don't think you were worth it either."

He didn't know what  _tase_ was but he knew what it had felt like, and the idea that that tiny creature had known such pain and terror made his stomach flip. He could span her ribcage with his hands.  _It killed her._ No. It couldn't be. When he concentrated he could still feel her breath on his face.

If he had been a little faster, a little stronger, a little more powerful. If he had held on just a little bit longer, if he had known what that screaming was for, then somehow he could have pulled himself together enough to set things right. He  _would_ have.

_But you didn't,_ he thought.  He had come up short. Again. As always.

_Enough._ He closed his eyes.

"Her heart stopped," Red-Ledger continued pitilessly. Meanwhile Loki could feel his own heart pumping away steadily in his chest.

He had never been able to restart a heart. But all it took was a short sharp pulse of magic to stop one…

*************************

**The End.**

**Gah, I'm sorry for such a downer! I'll try to do something a bit happier next time...**

**Let me know what you thought!**

**Author's Note:**

> For any non-New-Yorkers among us who don't recognize the garment dudes are wearing in the early part of the story: it's a Yankees polo.
> 
> Also, for this story at least I gave Loki monsters for pets, instead of for children. Because really. Yuck.


End file.
